Scalpdancers Read Online Free PDF

shall know the Cornish men,’” the Russian quoted. “And I know you, Penmerry. Rogue, scoundrel, trickster.”
    â€œAt your service.” Morgan bowed grandly with a sweep of an imaginary hat.
    â€œNo, at yours.” Vlad reached into the cage and withdrew an enormous black Asil, the same breed as Morgan’s, but half again as large. The bird had been hooded to keep it docile.
    A murmur of disbelief and approval filtered through the crowd, and betting was renewed at a furious pace. Odds were changed at the sight of the big black, and Morgan’s Asil became the immediate underdog. Still, there were a few shrewd men who saw past the difference in size and noted in Morgan Penmerry’s blood-red bird a quickness and quality of breeding worth risking their gold on.
    â€œDo I detect antagonism in your voice? My, my. How uncharitable. After all, we are so much alike in nature.” Vlad added as he stroked the black. “We are both men of the sea. We do not mind bending the rules of a game so long as we win.”
    â€œMaybe you’re right, Demetrius. However, there are some games I will not play. And in that, we differ.”
    â€œSuch as …”
    â€œWell—Let’s just say the Hotspur flies only one flag, that of a free trader, and has no use for the skull and crossbones.”
    Vlad flushed. The affront left him speechless. Under different circumstances he would have put his glove in Morgan’s face. “Out of deference to our host I shall allow that remark to pass,” Vlad said, tight lipped and seething from Morgan’s insult.
    â€œThen return to your seat. My wager is with Chiang Lu,” Morgan said, warily eyeing the black Asil.
    â€œHe is my esteemed associate,” Chiang Lu interjected, enjoying the confrontation he had instigated. A servant had brought him a plate of dim sum —succulently prepared appetizers of shrimp dumplings, morsels of fried taro, and steamed beef balls covered with lotus leaf. Chiang Lu sampled one of the dumplings, then returned the saucer to his servant. He washed down the food with a few sips of chrysanthemum tea. “You will fight the black,” the Chinese lord concluded, wiping his fingers on the servant’s shirt sleeves.
    Morgan shrugged and said, “As you wish.” He took his place on one side of the arena. Temp Rawlins followed him, a look of complete exasperation on the old seaman’s weatherworn visage.
    â€œCaptain, I’m thinking the old brig lizard that raised you oughta be keelhauled ’cause he did a piss-poor job,” Temp growled.
    â€œHe was a salty dog, but I wouldn’t trade a king’s ransom for the times we shared.” Morgan winked at Temp. “He taught me the love of ships and how to tell a squall from a hurricane.”
    Temp was not easily swayed by the compliment. “Too bad I didn’t learn you when a bluffs gone too far. We’ll wind up throat-slit and hanging from a meat stall on the Rue de Lorchas.”
    â€œBah. You’re seeing only one side of the coin.” Morgan glanced toward the rim of the cock pit in hopes of spying the reverend’s daughter, and sure enough, Julia Emerson was still there—watching him, or so it seemed. Morgan bowed. The girl looked startled, caught off guard, and she pointedly turned her attention elsewhere.
    â€œWe got enough troubles. A parson’s daughter’s about as lucky as a dead albatross. You better keep your mind on the troubles at hand,” Temp warned.
    â€œTroubles? What troubles? Little Red here is prime.” Morgan’s Asil sensed the hour was at hand and the bird uttered a guttural trill.
    Across the pit Vlad removed the hood from the black and stepped to the center of the arena. The Russian exile looked bold and confident—and why not? Who faced him but a craggy, crooked-nosed Cornishman with more brawn than brains?
    Morgan turned his back to the Russian and